Only Human
by I.Dream.Of.Hardyz
Summary: Stateside for a few days, McG revisits the past, one that he hasn't come to terms to, and still eats at him to this day from his last deployment before his days with the team. One shot. Angsty!McG.


**Hey! This was just written in about 2 hours, so it has not been checked over for grammar or any sort of editing. It was hot in my mind, and I wrote it and decided to publish it before I could change it. I know we don't know much about our lovely character in the Brave yet (though Dean has been quite awesome on Twitter giving snippets), so I took a lot of creative liberties here with McG's character and some of them might not align with what has been said in the show. I needed it to work for my idea, so if something doesn't fit, its because I probably changed it for my own idea, or wasn't sure so I just used what made sense. That said, I'm a writer, not a soldier so most of this is based off what I've done through very civilian research, and some of my own volunteer experience at the local VA. I hope you are all ready for some angst, because this story is full of it.**

 **I'm also very nervous about posting in this section for some reason, and am for some reason, nervous that the cast/crew/etc will see it, and hate it, which is something I'm not usually afraid of when writing, but since it's such a tight-knit little group, I suppose that's why. Anyway, less than two weeks until our lovely little show is back, and I'm quite excited. Oddly, McG is not my favorite character, but I find him to be one I want to poke at, and is one of the characters that thus far, in this section, hasn't gotten as much love as say Dalton, Amir, or Jaz. But! Alas. I'll shut up now. ;)**

 **If you wanna know who I am on Twitter, I'd love to chat about the show. But I'm not posting it publically on here, haha. I'm sure if we were to chat though, I'd give it away. ;)**

 **Also, the song I listened to while writing this is Rag'n'Bone Man - Only Human, if you hadn't guessed.**

 **RENEW THE BRAVE!**

 **xo Enjoy! :)**

* * *

 _Don't put the blame on me,_

 _Don't put the blame on me,_

 _I'm only human after all._

McG was not able to go stateside as often as he'd like. His job made it so he was almost always on mission, another threat or task at hand. He loved what he did—he loved his team more—and he knew he was blessed to make a change in the world, but he was glad for this short break to return home and visit with some friends and family. They were his next stop, but any time he came home to the States, he always made another stop first.

He landed in Atlanta around noon on a Wednesday afternoon, traffic heavy at the busy airport, more than he expected for midweek and mid-January. It was unseasonably warm for that time of year and he shrugged off his coat while waiting for the Uber to take him to the hotel. A few people bustled past him, and he couldn't help but make sure he took in each of their faces, always alert even when off the job.

The Uber arrived minutes later, and he instructed the rather chatty driver to bring him to his hotel, asking if he'd wait a moment and then take him to his next destination. The man cheerfully obliged, his chatter furthered when McG told him the latter location. He was quick inside his basic hotel room, dropping the single bag he carried (he only ever needed a carry on when home) on the busily printed bed, stopping in front of the mirror to study his reflection. The man in front of him looked tired, which was not surprising. Even with Dalton's favorite coffee (he always had the good stuff), he often felt exhausted once he was able to completely relax.

He splashed some cold water on his face, grabbed complimentary water out of the fridge, and double checked that his wallet was inside his coat pocket, hurrying back to where the smiling driver waited.

"Thanks," he said as the man carefully drove onto the main road, leading him a familiar suburb area, passing places he knew so well from his times here.

 _Odd, that family restaurant closed down,_ he thought. _They were always a great breakfast spot._

Next door to it, a new nail salon opened. It had a huge SALE sign in the window, promising the best work in town. Didn't they all? The man driving spoke again, having been silent since McG got back into the car, asking why he was heading to the building that he was.

McG stiffened. Not many knew about this. Not even his team. He had his demons—they all did, after all, and they were all great at compartmentalizing their traumas and shortcomings. Enough that he could push this thought from the forefront of his mind most of the year and only think about it when he could mourn his own stupidity. How did he answer this question? He knew himself enough that he'd never be honest, at least. Honesty came with many things, but strangers hardly was one of them. He'd slept with plenty of women since he joined Dalton's team, many of them asking for his story—he'd make them up sometimes, tall, padded stories about heroism, mainly for his own enjoyment. The truth was, before Dalton's team, when he was just a United States Army medic there was not much heroism. Just a lot of anger and heartache. He preferred what people saw on TV. At least they could pretend he didn't suffer from his own war story.

"Just visiting a friend," he finally replied, his voice short without meaning to. This was his secret; it was not some random Uber driver's business, even if it was just a question out of curiosity.

"Ah," the man said, sensing the hesitation and agitation. "Well, that is nice. My son's best friend just joined the military. He went for the Marines. He is finishing up basic training in a few weeks, kid's family is flying my son out with him. He's thrilled. I always wondered what it was like to serve. Couldn't serve in Vietnam. I had a severe hernia. Would you believe that? By the time I got the surgery to correct it, war was damn near over. I would've given everything to serve."

McG hated where this conversation was going. He would never speak of his service in Iraq or Afghanistan, and certainly couldn't talk about his team now. "It is a privilege to serve," he said absently.

"Ah yes, kid. I agree. Too many damned kids don't appreciate the service of our soldiers. I told my son that a few months back when Danny decided to join. My kid is smart, but the service would've done him good. Too damn stubborn, you know?"

He swallowed. "Yeah. Totally." He was a stubborn kid, himself. Always thought he knew the answers. Oh, how the military had changed that. Sometimes, he wished it were true. If he did have all the answers, he wouldn't be heading to this damned building right now.

Damn it. They had arrived.

"Ah, well here we are. Hope you have a great day, kid." He gave the man a weak smile, dropped an extra twenty at the man's passenger seat, even though his ride had already been paid by credit card, and closed the door before he could protest.

McG paused outside the large building, hating how uniform and military it looked. Of course it was, though. It was a government military building, after all. He pushed the anger in the pit of his stomach down further and walked inside the revolving doors, nodding to a woman at the information desk, already knowing where he was to go. He always cut through the main building anyway, he really needed to get to the smaller one behind the main hospital. He wouldn't find him inside there.

"Sir!" The woman called after him. "Do you need any assistance?"

Eager volunteers, he thought. "No thank you. I know where I'm going."

"Well, okay then!" she said cheerily, and he closed his eyes. Why was everyone so damn happy all the time? He gave her a brief smile, just to assure her that he wasn't pissed off by the world, and knew the vibes he was giving off needed to get lost before he made his way to the other side of the area. He would never let him see him like this. Besides, he might have a dim outlook sometimes, but he was genuinely happy when he was with his team. Why did the past always come eating at him like this when he least expected it?

McG made it through the main hospital and to the smaller, old building behind it. It was a long term care facility for people who were young. They called it something stupid, but it was basically a nursing home for those who survived war, but not in the way you'd ever expect. He hated how when you entered the main hospital everything was bright, patriotic, and updated, but when you got behind it you saw the crumbling stone and outdated paint job. The American Flag when he walked in was not anywhere as bright as the one up front, and the information person there—a Korean veteran—nodded his way at his entrance. Korey was always there. He never questioned him.

"See you in a few hours," he said absently, following the tiled hallways to the right wing. He stopped before the door he'd come to know by heart, closing his eyes momentarily.

' _McG where do you see yourself in ten years?' He always had the damn nickname, but it sounded different on his voice. 'I wanna marry Jem and have a few kids. Maybe retire somewhere warm, but not near hurricanes. And a dog. Maybe a husky. Or a Shepard. Did I ever tell you I tried for K9? Didn't get it. So here I am.'_

 _He talked a lot, but McG never minded. There wasn't much to do out in the desert, and he liked to learn about his fellow soldiers. McG smiled finally. "I dunno, Ben. Somewhere warm does sound nice, but not as hot as this shithole for sure. I like the coast. I could see myself as a parent someday, I guess, but shit, someone's gonna go through hell to get me to settle down.'_

' _James Dean over here,' Ben snorted. 'Ah shit. I fought like hell to get Jem, meanwhile you get letters from different women every week.' He rolled his eyes. Two women, maybe three. He only really cared for one. He couldn't help if women loved him. But she would never settle down with him—she only really liked him because he was enlisted, found the medic job hot. Something about it being like M*A*S*H, which wasn't true. He wasn't the one in the hospitals—he was the one who got them there._

' _McG?'_

' _Sorry, man.'_

' _Don't fall asleep on me. I've been staring at the same building for five hours now. No movement. You need to talk more.'_

' _I'll make a note of it.'_

' _So dreams?'_

 _He still didn't have an answer. He wasn't much of a planner. 'I dunno. Maybe we should write a letter or something. When I get to ten years, I'll look back at it and see where I stand.'_

 _Ben, young and always eager, shuffled where he was seated. 'Dude! That's a great idea.'_

 _They did it, wrote the letters together. His dumb idea seemed to make the first time deployment for Ben better and he couldn't help but go along with it. He wrote the letter, though his was much shorter than he anticipated. He didn't know what he wanted anyway, but Ben always did. Ben always knew the right thing, after all._

He came back to the present at the touch of a nurse. Nurse Hannah, which was ironic considering she was much different than the Hannah back at work. She smiled warmly at him, taking him into a hug before he could say a word. "Joseph," she whispered into the nape of his neck. "It's been a while. That traveling job of yours sure does take you places, does it not?" He tried to get postcards wherever they went. He told the team it was for his family, but they always came here. He addressed them to the nurse, as she would make sure they got where they needed. "Moscow! That is so far! What was it like?"

He thought back to that mission and shook his head. "Nice. It was nice."

She grinned, "I was telling Ben all about it when I got the card. I put it right next to the others. He's missed you, you know!"

McG smiled at her, he couldn't help but love the warmth she gave off. She cared so much for his friend. "I'm sure. I was about to head in. How have you been?"

"Good, good. You know, Rufus has driven me up a wall, he wants to be here all the time, but not everyone is a fan of dogs, so I try to keep it only when I know people won't complain. People complain about everything, Joseph. It's silly. But Ben loves Rufus, so I sneak him in as often as I can." She grinned again, and he laughed. Rufus was her Golden Retriever who was technically certified as a therapy dog, though he sometimes questioned the credibility of the thought. The dog was quite the character, but certainly not meant for the job. But she was right about one thing—he loved Ben.

"Is he here today?"

"Sleeping beside him right now," she whispered with mischief in her eyes. "I have to grab something for another patient, but why don't you head in? I'll be back in a few minutes."

McG nodded, watching her retreat. He stood in front of Ben's door for nearly a minute, hating how he could not bring himself inside easily. He knew it wasn't his friend's fault, but he also hated how much of a coward he was about it.

Finally he entered.

Rufus' head popped up at the sound of the intruder, but immediately his eyes lit up at the familiar face. McG grinned ear to ear at the excited dog's expression as he jumped down and ran circles about the tall medic. He patted the dog's back, looking at the figure on the bed. "Damn, Ben. Sorry about that. We all know how dogs love me."

Rufus barked.

"Now don't make Ben jealous, ya hear pup? It's hard to be McG."

He smirked at the soldier in bed, but his smile fell as he neared the side. He just wished for once when he entered the room and made some stupid joke that the man motionless on the bed would crack a smile, tell him he was an idiot, and make a joke back. But it never happened, and though the man below him had open eyes, he was not quite with them.

Ben had no family, so he was in the care of the government. Technically, the person on his next of kin had been McG, but when it all went down, he did not trust his own medical opinion, so he took his name off. He only wished now he could take it back. Because this wasn't fair, and he hated himself for it.

"Hey man," he said quietly, sitting beside the comatose man. "How have you been? Hannah said she gave you my postcard. Moscow was crazy. I wish I could tell you all the stories—they would make you think I was lying." He only ever spoke about his real job with Ben, knowing he would never be able to tell anyone else. His eyes moved, but never focused, and while he seemed awake, he was not aware. So he spilled all the things he never could to anyone else, knowing his secrets were safe with his fellow soldier. "Jaz is doing better. I think she's warming up to Amir. It's hard to lose someone you care about." He stopped _. It's harder to watch them like this_ , he thought. "You would love her. All fire and smack. Gives us a run for our money, but you know that."

Before he could continue, the nurse returned with a plate of cookies. How she always had baked goods around her, he wasn't sure but he moaned. "Damn it, Hannah, I can't eat that."

"Oh yes you can, boy," she scolded, southern accent coming through. "I made these last night and they are delicious. I'll be personally insulted if you don't eat one."

He knew when he got back with the team, they would kill him for the junk food. Dalton had a killer workout regime to keep them fit, and sugar was his worst nightmare. Still, Hannah took great care of Ben, so he couldn't tell her no. So he had a damn cookie.

"My God, is this laced with crack?" he joked.

She laughed, and hummed a response, and he went back in time a second time that day.

' _Jem sent cookies! Jem sent us cookies!' Ben shouted to his fellow soldiers, holding a box of cookies up for him and the others to see. He grabbed one and immediately regretted it. It was like a freakin' rock. Ben's face fell as his fellow soldiers began to mock him. 'Okay, so she's not so great at baking, but my brothers she tried!'_

"You would love Amir's cooking," he said, realizing too late that he said it out loud. The nurse questioned the person's name. "Oh, he's just a friend of mine. Makes a killer dinner."

"Is that so? You should bring him next time."

McG smiled. That would probably never happen.

"I will." The nurse excused herself a second time after a few minutes of telling her dog he couldn't have a cookie and sharing stories to catch up the medic, leaving him alone with his motionless friend. The scar visible on his neck made his spine tremble. If only he could go back in time…

' _Winter in this desert sucks. Nothing happens. We sit out here on patrol for hours on end, and we never see any action. McG, I haven't even gotten to fire my weapon yet! We've been here three months.' He didn't want to tell him to wait for the warmer weather, he'd be wishing otherwise, but he knew the annoyance some soldiers felt coming into a hot area of the war, expecting action. New soldiers craved adrenaline while most seasoned soldiers hoped for little of it._

' _Just be glad it's not as cold down here as it is up North. My last deployment it got fuckin' cold. Temps could change drastically, too. We left once and the weather shifted. Let's just say I got closer to some of my brothers than I wanted to.'_

 _Ben laughed. 'I ain't hugging you, bro.'_

' _Don't try to,' he teased back._

 _There was a silence, then Ben continued to chatter about nothing important. He craved it in the mundane, but sometimes he tuned it out. He needed to focus, and Ben could make it hard. He should've listened, maybe. He would've seen it coming. But in reality, you could hardly see a sniper coming, especially when you believed you were hidden. If Ben didn't move so much, it would've been a direct, lethal shot. But Ben was never still, and McG thought maybe he had adult ADHD because the others always said his movement put them at risk. He only put his own safety at risk that day._

 _He was talking one minute, talking fast about one of Jem's requests and silent the next. He turned, shocked by the sound of his friend's quiet change and in the darkness saw a deep shadow near where Ben had slumped. He was mouthing something, but no words were coming out. How ironic, he had thought at the time that even after being shot in the neck, the kid was still trying to talk. In seconds, they were taking on heavy fire and his platoon were covering him while he tended to the young soldier's neck. It must've hit his artery._

 _He swore, 'Stay still, Ben. Stop trying to talk. Do you hear me? Stay still,' he muttered, more for his own benefit while he tried to do his job without the panic that rose in his chest. He was trained for this; he did it well under pressure, but this was Ben. Stupid, naïve, and bubbly Ben, the little brother he always wanted but never fucking had. And he was bleeding out beside him. He grew annoyed with protocol, hating how his kit did little to stop the bleeding. He knew the best course of action would be to cauterize the wound, but the lighting made it hard to see. And he needed to fucking see. His Staff Sergeant told him the MEDEVAC was only three minutes out, and by the stains on his hands, he knew the kid didn't have that long._

 _He swore, repeatedly, while Ben stared up at him open eyed. Still trying to fucking talk._

 _The kid never shut the hell up._

 _The rescue came, but he needed to be brought back five times. By the time they got him to Bagram, he'd lost nearly two thirds of his blood, despite one of his fellow soldiers giving blood on the helicopter. The fifth time he was out for nearly ten minutes. They got him back, but in the hospital, he never woke back up._

He opened his eyes. At first, everyone rejoiced in the hospital, and he, just before he joined Dalton's team, had spent every hour of his free time at that hospital, trying to coax him out of the fucking coma. He had minimal brain activity, so he was in there, he was sure of it, but he never gained more function back. He remembered cursing at him to stop moving back in the middle of the filthy floor, telling him to stop over and over again because he was causing more blood to escape the gaping hole in his neck.

He just wished to hear his voice one more time.

He'd played videos over and over again the next few minutes, listening to videos Jem had for his own sanity, but when Jem got tired of waiting, the videos left with her. Dumb girl. How could she just leave him?

It was ten years last week. He wanted to be there on the day, but you know, Moscow.

He smiled down at Ben, shaking his head. "Bet you think I forgot, huh?" He pulled two envelopes out of his pocket. One was his writing on the front, the other Ben's. The letters they wrote together that night in the middle of the desert, only a week before the sniper's shot. He knew his letter would be stupid in comparison, but he opened it first anyway.

 _In ten years… shit. What the hell do I write here? I want to be happy, I guess. I don't know if I'll have kids. I'm not sure what woman would put up with me for that long, but if that's the case, I hope they look like their mother. I guess I'll still be with the Army, so hopefully somewhere more secure, not in this damn desert. Happy, though. That seems to be the only thing that would matter._

He stared down at the words. He wasn't much older than Ben at the time, maybe two or three years. He still had two tours above the kid, the last one being when Ben got shot, making a total of three. In five years, he spent three of them in the fucking desert. And it got him nowhere. He almost left the service after Ben, but it was Dalton who came to him a few months after he returned to active duty, and he changed his mind. Dalton gave him purpose again, he was good at that. Thank God for that man.

Was he happy? He thought about it. Sure. He had a great team, wonderful friends in them, and he knew he had a purpose. But it wasn't what he would've thought.

He glanced at Ben. This wasn't what Ben wanted, that he knew.

He tore open his letter before he could change his mind. He pulled it open, terrible handwriting greeting him. He knew Ben had plans. He loved to be a soldier, but he had dreams. And so, he lined them out on paper.

 _Where do I begin? Ten years. I'll be 28 years old. Shit, that's old. I'll be out of the service by then, I think. I want to do eight years, so I'll be done, yeah. Me and Jem will have to be married by then. I want to be married by the time I open this. A kid? Probably a good idea. I want them before I get too old. How many? Maybe two. One each, a boy, and a girl. I want to spoil a little girl. I can see it now. What would I be doing with my life otherwise? I want to write. I love writing! I could write my own stories for hours and hours. I could see myself writing for TV, or maybe a movie! I could write about what it was like over here; maybe someone would buy that. I don't know. I just want to be happy, so I'll take whatever job I need to, to support my family and then go from there._

 _I don't want to pick out names for my kids yet, because Jem would probably kill me if I did. But she'll have her RN by then, so she'll be so excited to be working. Otherwise, I hope I'm still in contact with the guys here. I really love them, and they've become my brothers. I grew up in a foster group home, never really had a family. McG is like the older brother I never had, even if I annoy him sometimes. I bet he would be a godfather to my kids. He tries to act like he's tough, but I bet he's this big softie inside. He'd make a great father someday. I hope our kids grow up friends! These are big dreams, I know, but I'm sure I'll be happy regardless. Happy is the goal, isn't it? I'm happy now, don't get me wrong. I don't necessarily like being in a foreign country where people want me dead, but I'm making memories that I'll take with me for a lifetime, and have brothers who will always be there for me. That sounds like happiness, doesn't it?_

McG kicked the chair he was sitting in minutes ago, hot tears brimming the edges of his eyes. Rufus stared up at him in alarm, knowing something was wrong. He wanted to rip the letter to shreds for everything it said, especially his part of it. The fucking kid deserved better. He should have all of what he said—he should be happy.

Not sitting in a VA fucking hospital bed, with nothing but the ceiling to stare at and a dog to pet every so often by the nurse's fucking hand. He was so angry, angry mainly at himself for not being able to stop this outcome, do more in the field to prevent the blood loss, prevent the bullet from destroying all of his buddy's chances, and for the fucking sniper for doing it in the first place.

He should've. Could've.

 _Would've_.

He would do it so differently if he was given the chance again. But chances were just that, a one time thing. He couldn't go back in time. So, there he was in a hospital room in Atlanta, Georgia, while his teammates were enjoying themselves—Preach with his girls, Jaz somewhere tropical, Dalton somewhere in the mountains, he hadn't asked Amir, but he was sure he was probably cooking something… and where was he?

Stuck in his own head, hating himself.

It was easy to forget on mission. It was easy to forget when he was with the team.

He was trained to push it all away, never think about it.

But he was there.

And he knew one thing, as much as he liked to believe otherwise.

He was human. And he would never forgive himself for what happened to the kid below him.


End file.
